


A Magic Trick

by Sineala



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch, The Professionals
Genre: Crossover, Gen, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On an otherwise routine CI5 assignment, Bodie and Doyle have a strange visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Magic Trick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lysimache](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysimache/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Lysimache!

Who would have thought a professional magician could have been running guns? It had been clever of him, all right, Doyle reflected, and it was going to be a bloody mess to sort out. There was ammo buried under the rabbit cages, disassembled parts here and there slipped into secret pockets and compartments and inside linings. They were going to be at this for weeks.

The only redeeming thing about any of it had been watching McCabe try to cuff the bloke with the trick handcuffs at first. Doyle smirked as he went through one of the desk drawers. Pencils, more pencils, rings linked together, some papers, deck of playing cards... hmm? What was this? There was a little depression, and when he hooked his fingers into it something within the desk clicked. A shallow drawer sprang open inside, but it was set so far back that he could only reach the contents by feel.

His fingers snagged on a thin thread, but by the resistance of it, whatever was on the other end was much heavier. Grasping, he got his hand around it. It was a book of some sort; he could feel the edges of the pages. Heavy one, too. With much careful prying, he levered it up and out of the drawer and set it on the table. It was a fancy, leather-bound volume, old enough that the cover was starting to flake, but there was no dust on it; for all its age, it looked well-used, and currently used at that.

Doyle flipped it open, flicking through blank sheets until he reached the title page. _Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Artes Magicis_. Hopefully, he turned the page again. Christ, the whole thing was in Latin. He knew magicians were famously protective of their secrets, but this was pushing it.

"What have we got here?"

Bodie's low voice in his ear, his breath on his skin, should have surprised him, but it didn't. It was only Bodie. Bodie bent down to peer over his shoulder, and as he went he carefully slid his hand along Doyle's side, up under his coat, where no one else was going to see. They were behind the desk, after all. One of these days someone was going to notice the two of them -- but, Doyle thought, no one had yet.

Doyle squinted at it, then up at Bodie. "Do I look like I know Latin? Magic arts natural philosophy principles... something."

"Veni vidi vici," agreed Bodie cheerfully, apparently also at the limit of his linguistic abilities.

"Some help you are," Doyle said, but he let the fingertips of his free hand just graze Bodie's arm.

Bodie frowned at it. "So he had a magic book?"

"Tucked away in his desk, yeah." Doyle gestured to the hidden compartment.

Bodie's frown only deepened.

"What?"

"The rest of his books are over there." Bodie stepped away from him to point at a bookcase in the corner. "So what's so special about this one, eh?"

Good question. "I--"

"Oi, Doyle." It was Murphy's voice; he and Anson had been going through the prop boxes by the door. "Got a visitor here from your old mob."

When Doyle looked up, Cowley had entered, and behind him came a man Doyle didn't know. Mid-forties, maybe. Tall, brown hair, grey eyes. Wearing a suit that probably cost more than Doyle made in a year. He'd remember if he'd ever worked with a man like that.

He hurried around the desk and across the room.

"--and perhaps you know our agent Doyle," Cowley was saying to the man. "He came to us from the Metropolitan Police as well. Ah, Doyle." Cowley finally deigned to glance his way. "This is DCI Thomas Nightingale. Inspector Nightingale, this is Raymond Doyle. One of my best agents."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," said Doyle, extending his hand, "but I'm afraid I don't remember you at all."

Nightingale shifted his cane to his other arm to shake his hand. His grip was firm. "No reason you should," he said, crisply. "My path does not often intersect with the rest of the organisation, you might say." There was a strange sort of loneliness in his voice. But it wasn't the sort of thing you could just ask about.

"So what brings you here?"

"Your Mr Cowley asked for me personally," he said, with a faint smile, and it was only after Nightingale had moved on, over to where Bodie was still paging through the strange book, that Doyle realised it hadn't been much of an answer at all.

"You asked for him?" Doyle said in an undertone, walking back to Cowley. "Who's he when he's at home? You've never brought in the Met before--"

Across the room, Bodie and Nightingale looked to be exchanging pleasantries, and then Bodie shrugged and moved away to examine the other bookcases, letting Nightingale have at the book on the table. Grinning, Bodie held up the first of the books he pulled off the shelf, displaying it to Doyle in silence. It had been hollowed out, and a revolver was nestled snugly in the middle.

"It seems he makes a special study of magic," said Cowley, and Doyle turned away from the scene at the other end of the room. "I agreed that in this particular circumstance, outside help was called for."

"So you asked for him?" Doyle said again.

"No, no," Cowley said. "He volunteered. I hadn't heard of him before at all."

That wasn't what he'd said, was it?

"Your men have found most of the hiding places already," said Nightingale, from behind him, and this time Doyle did jump. "I apologise for the hasty departure, but perhaps we'll meet again sometime, Mr Doyle."

He left, and Cowley went with him. Doyle could hear the clatter of feet down the stairs, and quiet conversation, fading away.

That had been... bizarre.

"Ray!" Bodie called out, almost a yell, and Doyle turned back in a hurry.

Bodie's face was pale. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. And this was _Bodie_ ; he probably wouldn't look that bad even if there had been actual ghosts. So what was it?

Doyle was at the other side of the room in seconds, not caring now if anyone noticed.

"What's wrong?"

"The book's gone!" Bodie hissed.

"He stole it?"

Bodie was staring at the blank spot on the table. "You're going to think I'm mad, but-- he made it disappear."

"He what?"

"Waved his hand," Bodie said. "Said something funny. Not English. Maybe Latin. And then, abracadabra, no book."

"Cowley said he knew something about magic," Doyle said, awkwardly, trying to be reasonable. It didn't sound like Bodie was having him on, but Bodie didn't usually fall for this sort of thing, either. "So he was probably doing a magic trick for you. Must have had some kind of authorisation to take the book, right? Maybe he needs it for evidence. Probably he's clearing it with the Cow right now."

Bodie looked even paler. "He didn't know I was watching him."

"Christ." Doyle reached out for the space on the desk where the book had been. It was empty; the book was well and truly gone. "Maybe he really did know something about magic."


End file.
